


Hero

by Gayer_Yet_Gayer (IronicAppreciation)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ??? - Freeform, F/M, Imagery, Sadstuck, except not really, idek, idk - Freeform, it's mostly me fucking around, mild body horror, sorry - Freeform, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 01:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10888962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronicAppreciation/pseuds/Gayer_Yet_Gayer
Summary: A casual reminder that these kids were fucking thirteen for a good portion of this shit.





	Hero

There’s nothing heroic about death.

No mellifluous tragedy, no tainted morsels and confessions that would’ve meant so much more if your guts weren’t spilled on the floor in front of you.

There’s nothing beautiful about a child’s screaming tears when the sandcastle they spent hours constructing is forever demolished by a single, taunting wave, careless watery fingers washing away even the hint of seashells and rocks tediously placed in windows and crevices, scorching right past the moats and gates you built around yourself for protection, not thinking, not caring.

Dying isn’t poetic, isn’t easy, isn’t just falling asleep and never waking up.

Dying is knowing with your final breath that even though you’re disposable and she’s _not_ , nothing and no one gives a shit what you think.

Dying is all your thoughts conglomerating on the pulsating pain that erupts in your abdomen, and realizing that you can’t even afford to care if she’s alright, because you’re too _weak_ , and you’re too _selfish_.

Dying is being unable to exchange cliche, heart wrenching goodbyes, because you’re in too much pain, and breathing requires all your effort.

Dying is thinking you hear an utter of your name fluttering upon the broken, ricocheting echoes of her voice, cracked and tortured and forced, but knowing it’s only a hallucination, because when you strain yourself enough to glance over, she’s already gone.

Dying is the silent, solemn finality of knowing you did all you could, and it just wasn’t enough.

Dying _hurts_.

Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, a redundant, blaring mantra of “I can’t take it!” pounds in your head. You’re too young, too dumb, too small. Only now do you see, with the last fleeting specs of your vision, that the bright blood secreting from her form, efflorescing around her body, appears to dwarf it in size. She looks like a child. Has she always looked like a child?

You’re a kid.

You let that sink in. You’re a clueless, stupid kid and you don’t know what you’re doing. You told yourself you were supposed to take care of them, to keep them safe. It’s your job. It’s your responsibility. But you’re no bigger than they are, your own, bleating blood no different than theirs as it escapes your body in a drawn out, gruesome agony.

It hurts to think, to breathe, to move.

It hurts to _exist_.  

Your eyes close for the last time, and it’s not heroic, and it’s not tragic, and it’s not beautiful.

You’re just a kid.

You’re just a kid, and you’re _dying_ , and it _hurts_ , and you’re _scared_.

 

There’s nothing heroic about death.

**Author's Note:**

> GONER IS BEING UPDATED DON'T KILL ME PLEASE


End file.
